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It’s more of a news title than the actual story. Here’s an excerpt from the article, which will of course be printed in the New York Times:

“The beloved children’s author amused many generations with her frolicking prose and insightful wit. Her works are still enjoyed to this day by all ages who grew up reading her bestsellers, “One Small World” and “How To Survive School, The Woods and Your Parents.” She guided readers to see the humor in everyday situations and inspired a movement among young people to be active outdoors and treasure nature. Befitting her active lifestyle, the author died on tour in Austria while attempting to outrun an avalanche on a monoski. The video can be seen of the amazing event at the Guinness World Records site. It is believed she had a medical event which led to the avalanche catching up with her, as she was a fast alpiner. At 101, she broke several world records for mountaineering. Her son is the retired founder of Global Solar, the well-known expedition company providing global adventures in hybrid land/amphibian cycling vehicles. At the site, he commented, “My mom had a wonderful, full life. She left this world exactly the way she would have wanted to.”

The programmers at the NSA knew kids could see things in a video game that adults couldn’t, and they needed kids who really knew their stuff to test them out. Rocky was a boy-genius programmer, and Dylan was the kind of kid who made everything look easy. Challenger was the government’s official term for the project. The object was to test virtual gaming systems that would challenge and train agents and prepare them for real-life scenarios. They discovered Rocky in the park playing chess, beating all the old guys who normally couldn’t be beat. Dylan was there too, waiting for Rocky. They witnessed him chase down a purse-snatcher. Dylan tied the guy to a street pole with his own belt and returned the purse to its owner as he waited for help to arrive. When she offered him a reward he politely said getting the guy off the streets was reward enough for him.

They both had special skills, for 10-year-olds, and now they got to put them to good use under Dr. Longley’s supervision. Their teachers enjoyed hearing the reports from the NSA, and even gave the boys extra credit. Sometimes they got to replace projects with their NSA activities. Dylan was hoping to earn some field trip time to NSA during the upcoming poetry week at school.

Success as a blogger is simple for me. It is to find and follow bloggers who inspire me emotionally and intellectually, so I was a success as soon as I began to find a little community. I’m inspired by the creativity I’ve witnessed, and that is saying a lot. I am particularly thrilled that kids (teens old enough to blog!) have liked my stuff, it is reassuring to know I can still evolve my skills and have much to offer still after leaving teaching. This is my life’s work, and I can build on it rather than leave it behind. Thank-you blogging for offering me a medium to reach others.

Each like, I’ve noticed, is typically someone I share a common thread with (unless it’s a transparent internet marketer). Whether it’s another single mom, or another blogger with a similar upbringing or experiences, I keep delighting in that we are able to find one another. I also enjoy when people who I would typically never have the chance to connect with like my writing and when I’m exposed to new ideas. I had thought this is what teaching would offer, and it did, for a while. Education is a little beaten down now, and I need more than it had to offer, especially as a single parent. Monetary rewards just aren’t enough to make diminishing returns feels like a return .

Move aside and part the seas, in comes the granny rally! They come from miles, all Cadillacs and smiles. Silent and stealthy, looky there it’s Grandma Elsie! Line ’em up and watch ’em go, those V8’s will put on a show. Lots of horsepower and a cushy seat makes grandma’s ride the one to beat!

August 18 late pm: I was told by my son this was all wrong. Apparently I should have left out any reference to the hot rod rally. He asked me what all that zooming vrooming was (i.e. tires burning etc. – hey I’ve never used i.e. and etc in the same sentence) and shook his head with a pregnant pause, (quite a long pregnant pause). He said it should have been just the granny rally, with descriptions of obstacles in their course, and their families cheering them in the stands. He said the ending just dropped off and I should have made it a gradual decline and announced his grandma’s win at the end. OK, I’ve got some work to do. Granny Rally is an idea I came up with after attending a rally in our town. Those Devilles are everywhere, and they are serious cars. My own Mom has one and let’s just say she’s safer in it than those around her on the road! He thought it was a hilarious idea and we’ve been joking about it for weeks. So, here goes (ZZzzzz I want to be sleeping!)

The Granny Rally (Take 2)

Ladies and gentlemen get on your feet, in comes the granny rally!
They’ve come from miles, ready to ride Cadillac style
Racing for their families who’re packed in the stands abundantly.
Line ’em up and watch ’em go, those V8’s will put on a show.
Now they’re off, sharp turn around the bend, through the bumpers and back again.
Grandma Elsie’s in the lead, but Grandma Cathy is looking mean
Coming up from behind, she’s zips in front, doing fine.
It’s Grandma Cathy for the win, with family cheering she takes her victory spin.

I’m sure I’ll be sent back for more editing, but we’ll see what he thinks in the morning.

If I could trade places with anyone, it would be me at 22-years-old. I would like her to see me now, and I would like to remember.

Remember my body, my hair, my face. I would like to look in the mirror and laugh at what I did not always know was beautiful. I would tell my reflection I was the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen. I would style my hair super big and poofy, just because I could, or pull it back in a slick, long ponytail. I would reach back with my flexible arms and enjoy the feel of it low on my back.

I would go for a run, and I would amaze myself. Then I would stay out all night dancing with my friends and I would look good with my moves which are so right on a 22-year-old’s body. I would bask in the attention I received from boys my age, thank them and politely tell them I’m not that kind of girl if they tried to get too close. I would find the nice guy who wasn’t drinking too much and ask him if he wanted to go for a walk by the waterfront. We would talk about our lives and what we hoped to achieve and I would say I’m going to take life as it comes. I enjoy traveling and want to have adventures while I’m young. I don’t care about money or my past. I want to surround myself by people who care about me and leave the rest behind. He would walk me home and nervously ask me for my phone number.

When I arrived at my apartment, my friends would ask me all about it and I would savor every second, living with my best girlfriends. I would tell them they are beautiful and I would listen to all of their hopes and dreams. I would not care if they ate my peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon or their fingers, or if they left dishes in the sink. I would be a silly girl and I would enjoy the evening. They would think I was crazy in love, but I would be crazy happy just to be near them. I would not be thinking too much about the boy by the waterfront because 22-years-old is much too young to care about that, until I found someone who really deserved me.

Before I went to bed I’d write myself a letter. I’d tell myself to enjoy every second and not let life’s cares bring me down. Don’t get too excited either, just take it easy. Be kind to others even when they fail you, because they are human and it has nothing to do with you. You are wonderful and amazing. You are right where you need to be.

I would call my Dad and say hi. He’d be up because he was like that, he wouldn’t even notice the time. He’d ask me about my night out and reminisce about his own nights out, when he was young. He would be young, only 57. I would have to hang up then.

At this point, I’d realize all I have to be blessed with in my life, all the struggles and joys which transformed my body and my mind. I’d be ready to go back. When I returned to my older self I’d find a note, written in purple ink. It’d say we have done amazingly. What a beautiful son and house. I can’t believe this is our life. I never would have imagined some of the friends that stuck with us, or the ones that didn’t, that’s hard to take. We had our hearts broken sometimes. Did we go to Ireland on our honeymoon? I’m glad you divorced him. He was cute but, you can do better. And did we really do all that schooling, and do that for work? Our boy is so amazing, he gives me hope for my future, I can’t wait to hold him again. You must be so happy. We have more than I ever dreamed of.

And that’s it. I would be compelled to embrace life with confidence and assurance that it’s all good because someday I will be 20 years older and that lady would tell this woman to enjoy.

Like this:

“What?” I think, I stutter. Maybe it was out loud, I don’t know. I have never been asked if I’m in my fifties. Until just a few years ago I was asked for my identification to enter bars. I am 42-years-old. Before I allow myself to be offended, I allow my senses to register the flat tone with which she delivered the offending question, the blank stare. The setting, The Dollar Store. We are buying a $1 dollar toy, my 7-year-old son and I.

“What?” I implore, my senses stunned, now recovering. I focus my gaze on her face, searching. Is it an automatic question at the Yankee Dollar Store? Do I appear older than I am? For a second I realize she looks older than she should for a young girl, the years of a hard life reveal her future. I am detective, seeking information, some bit of rational thought to lessen the blow of this devastating question.

“Are you at least 55 years old?” she repeats. My pride hastily answers for me, “No.” With that information she is able to proceed and turn her attention back to the mechanics of completing the sale. I would say she turned her eyes away from me, but it would be more apt to say they just fell away, eased back into their listless stare.

“Wait,” I command. “Is that for a discount?”

She glances in my direction, a barely perceptible confirmation that yes, she is offering me a senior discount, and I can see I’ve caused her great discomfort to look back at me. She was thinking about her own life troubles, her job at Yankee Dollar, how many minutes until her next cigarette break. She does not perceive me or my youthful vigor, she is unseeing.

“I should have said I am…at least 55-years-old,” I offer, cheerfully. The confusion on her face tells me this is not a joke she gets. There is a half-question on her face, the semblance of confusion in her now inwardly turned eyes. It does not take much to make a turtle hide in its shell. I release her from this state by explaining I need to shop with an older friend to get the discount. I crack a smile, she completes the sale.

I realize I would have just sold my pride for a discount on a dollar item. Oh well, next time.